More than Inconvenient
by Fractaledsymmetry
Summary: Drabbles inspired by Tennyson's "In Memorium," Crowley and Aziraphale missing each other when they are apart.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This fic is inspired by selected sections of Tennyson's "In Memorium." The title of every chapter and some sentences will be direct allusions to the poem. For the most part, these will probably be separate episodes and continuity is as continuity does. This and future chapters may be construed as slash. I don't own "In Memorium" or _Good Omens._

Confessions of a Wasted Youth

Aziraphale was gone. He was alone. Crowley walked across the wooden floor, leaving shoeprints behind him in the dust. "No..." he ran his fingers along one of the shelves. "Angel..." Angels couldn't die, he knew, but they'd been together on this Earth so long that discorporation was a lot more than inconvenient. "Lord..." he muttered. He took in a sharp breath. The word made his tongue sting. "I... _loved_ him." The words were painful to admit, painful to admit aloud.

Crowley fell to his knees, but for him, it might as well have been descension into Hell, and this cold empty shop eternal flames. "What was it like?" He asked the winter air, "What was it like, angel? Was it real?" How he had longed to ask his friend this question, but never could voice the words. He never had to. Aziraphale had been the proof that Crowley's distant memories of Heaven were more than dreams. The angel was his faith. Could a demon have faith?

A slow, stammered prayer issued from Crowley's mouth, and he almost expected steam to follow. "Lord," he choked out, "forgive me for my foolishness. Forgive me for my grief." Could a demon be forgiven? Crowley's breath caught in his throat. He wished he could ask to be made mortal, for man could have faith, man could be forgiven, man could find Heaven... where Aziraphale was... what precious gifts these mortals did not know they had. "Forgive my grief. I know our time together is limited, but..." but what? There was no polite way to say it. He could only offer graceless confession. "I want my friend back."

But why should Aziraphale be returned for Crowley's sake? "You are greater than us, Lord, though we mocked thee, and now we are lost in darkness... I am lost." He faltered. "Forgive what seem'd my sin in me. Forgive what I have done. I was young. Forgive me that I didn't take the advice of someone older, someone wiser..." Crowley spoke faster, "I've learned so much since then. I've helped people," His voice got louder, "and I didn't mean to fall," and softer, "I didn't understand what I could lose," and dissolved altogether. And what had he lost? His friend, his angel, his promise that the world contained some sweetness, something fair.

All Crowley wanted was to be with him. But where was the sweetness and fairness in that? What influence did he have on Aziraphale, Crowley wondered. He stammered and started again. "Forgive me for my foolishness. Aziraphale lives in thee. I love him all the more for it. For he is worthy to be loved, and he is worthy to be loved by more than me. Forgive these wild and wandering cries. I am a child compared to you. I know not what I say." But he did. He said everything that could prevent him from saying what he really wanted to say, what he wanted to say every time this happened, that Aziraphale should stay in Heaven, where it was better, where he belonged.

"A... Ame..." He couldn't finish.


	2. Chapter 2

Half a Sin

Most of the time, he only prayed on paper. He couldn't bring himself to speak aloud the things he had done, to admit them to the air around him, as if to do so would mean he would burst into flames. Instead, he had a closet full of letters to God that even Aziraphale didn't know about. Of course, most of the time, Crowley only prayed when Aziraphale was gone.

_Dear Lord, if you don't mind_...

_Dear Lord, how do I_...

_Dear Lord, forgive me... forgive me, what have I done?_ And what had he done? Sometimes he honestly didn't remember. He used to be an angel too. And half a sin later, he was alone.

_Dear Lord, remind me who I was before_... before this happened, before he was staring up at midnight's clouds, the mutilated body broken in his hands.

And he wasn't writing to God anymore. He was writing to the former owner of that body, and he didn't care if it was blasphemous.

_Dear Aziraphale, forgive me... forgive me for doing nothing in your absence, though you always knew sloth was my forte. But to work before you were back would be to take advantage of the Arangement_.... Instead he was taking advantage of his grief to put it in words. Maybe that was why he couldn't pray aloud. The sad, mechanic exercise of writing numbed the pain that came from knowing there was no reason for his prayers to be answered and the pain that came from being unsure what he was praying for anyway because he was too busy lying to himself.

Crowley buried himself in the work of his unread letters. He clung to his writing the way he would cling to his coat in winter. And as much as the trees proclaimed it was summer, it might as well have been snowing.

Note: I guess this contradicts the previous section with Crowley praying _not_ on paper, but I did it anyway. Hope you liked it :)


	3. Chapter 3

No Second Friend

It was these times that Crowley and Aziraphale were closest, staring at the carnage, unsure what to say. Not even Crowley could bring himself to say "loss is common," and turn a blind eye. All he could think of was how grateful he was Aziraphale had not died in the war.

Aziraphale didn't bother to ask "my side or yours?" They already knew.

Humans called these bodies collateral damage. That didn't make the people any less dead. He felt the same way Crowley did. Mortality must be difficult when it threatens life in such a way.

A man bent over one of the bodies and Crowley couldn't help recognizing the similarity in their faces.

"How old do you think he was?" Crowley asked the angel.

Aziraphale looked and winced. "Twenty?" He suggested, his voice flat. Aziraphale remembered weeks ago, watching a woman praying for her son, who had gone into the navy. He saw her again now, wearing the same expression as this man. They would both be burying children tonight.

"How will they move on?" Aziraphale choked out.

Crowley shook his head, unable to answer. Even as a demon, he couldn't miss the wash of love that ran through this aftermath, the broken hearts everywhere. Wives, siblings, children waited still for news of their family members thinking "here today or here tomorrow will he come." He wondered how many of them would have to wait forever.

One of them was a girl who sat at her dressing table that night, as every night, preparing for her fiancée to return. Crowley and Aziraphale passed the house. A candle burned on the windowsill late into the night. She would always be ready for him, whenever he returned. Aziraphale was touched by the look of hope upon her face. Humans were resilient beings. She wouldn't let the destruction stop her from believing she and her love would be reunited. It made her even more beautiful, he told Crowley.

But the pessimistic demon shook his head. "He's dead. I'm sure he's dead. He was drowned or shot or trampled. How can anyone survive this?"

But people did survive, Aziraphale knew, and he wondered if they weren't worse off, the girl who might be doomed to perpetual maidenhood, the orphaned children, the people who had lost their best friends, for their friends couldn't be returned to them as his could. There were no second chances here, only destruction and sorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

A Calm Despair

Aziraphale woke on a day that seemed little different than any other. A calm silence blanketed the world around him. Usually, Aziraphale liked this time to read. But he knew he wouldn't see Crowley that day, and he almost missed the hectic chaos the demon threw into the world.

Aziraphale didn't worry though. This was the way things went. For now, Crowley would be haggling in Hell for a new body and in that short time, even the trees would breathe a sigh of relief, just as they likely screamed in terror during Aziraphale's temporary absences.

Nevertheless, things were less exciting, Aziraphale thought as he passed the the local farmer that, for once, was having no trouble with cows getting out of his pasture. The autumn leaves slowly drifted to the ground around Aziraphale's feet, calmly almost. Aziraphale worried when Crowley was away. And if you asked, he wouldn't admit he recognized the difference between the calm he felt when he'd successfully inspired someone to thwart evil and the calm despair he felt when his best friend was gone.

Maybe it was because Aziraphale knew that Crowley couldn't feel the same calm. He wanted him to, but Crowley was a demon and Hell was about as far away from calm as a person could get. The only calm part of Crowley was the rotting body. No wonder he liked it more here.

"That's ineffability I suppose," Aziraphale sighed and told himself not to worry. Crowley would be back. He always was.


	5. Chapter 5

Note: This chapter is slash (not graphic slash, but they are together) For the many of you who like that, enjoy, for the few of you who don't, sorry and I'll try to do something else next time. :)

Mine Eyes Have Leisure for Their Tears

Aziraphale rolled over and remembered Crowley wasn't there. So this is what it felt like to have a spouse die.

Aziraphale and Crowley had been apart from each other before, but not since they had admitted their love for one another. And since then, everything had been different. Many people had suspected Aziraphale was gay, but Crowley's flamboyance far outstripped his in the end. Once he got over the shock of falling in love, everyone knew. He had no desire to hide it. Maybe Crowley's expressiveness stemmed from his supposed inability to prove Hell wrong.

One day, though, Crowley didn't come home. At first, Aziraphale chalked it up to his being busy tempting people, but but after a few days, he still hadn't returned and the angel had begun to wonder if it had anything to do with those rude boys who called them names, names Aziraphale didn't understand but Crowley took offense at.

Crowley had told Aziraphale there were people who didn't like their lifestyle, there were people who wanted them out of town or... the thought chilled Aziraphale... out of life. Aziraphale tried and failed to push the awful thought from his mind. Crowley had been different these last weeks. He had been nicer, not that he hadn't always been nice, but he had almost... human... as of late, and Aziraphale wondered if the human-hearted man he loved would return.

He told himself Crowley was a demon. He would have to return. But even if he had not turned human, would Hell give a new body to a demon who loved an angel? Aziraphale had eternity to find out. It all felt surreal, but he wasn't dreaming or Crowley would be there. He rarely slept when Crowley wasn't. Aziraphale didn't understand why others had animosity toward himself and Crowley, who loved each other just as much as other men loved their wives, but he had a feeling this animosity contributed to Crowley's disappearance. A feeling wasn't proof though, and Aziraphale needed proof, even if it came in the form of a body because at least that would tell him for sure what had happened. Even if Crowley was gone for good, certainty would offer the tiniest of comforts.


End file.
